I've come to reconsider where I stand on the whole copyright issue, in regards to work that appears on my blog. If you happen to see art that I've created on this blog and it inspires you, by all means go ahead and appropriate it. If you want to modify it, scraplift it, use only parts of it or copy it outright, you have my permission to do so here. If you want to give me credit, fine. If you don't, that's okay too. I've been inspired by countless other people in all walks of life and I believe that generosity of spirit is much greater than any personal pride or glory I could achieve from claiming to be the first or the best to do anything. The sole exception to this would be photos of my family, to protect their privacy.
The vintage images that appear in this blog are digitally altered and colored by scrapologie. Feel free to use them for your personal use, however you like!

Sorting Hat

Hypster

November 29, 2012

"We are all just looking for some kind of happiness. Sometimes things work out for us, and sometimes they don't. It really doesn't matter. Eventually all our hopes and fears are going to dissolve, and at the end of our lives, according to all the deathbed reports we've ever received, the only thing that will matter is how loving and brave we've been. All those dying people can't be wrong when they say that all the things you want and all the things you dread are just like waves in the ocean. Eventually they just become reabsorbed into the vast play of the sea. And you know what? The ocean doesn't care. It never gives up. It can accommodate it all, gentle waves that lap the shore and those that roil up ferociously, tiny tidal pools and great, freezing depths. The real secret, the great ones say, is that we are much more like the ocean than the waves. Underneath all our hopes and fears is profound stillness and the memory of how to return to it." (Susan Piver)

Read this quote today and it resonated deeply with me. This puts it all in perspective; loss and disappointments lose their significance when I realize that there is something grander at work, that we are all interconnected, and part of something much larger than we can scarcely imagine. That regardless of our professions and our endless quests for glory and recognition, our soul's work is to learn how to love one another. In the meantime, we each count the days and make the days count, until we return to be claimed by the sea.

Lately I've been seeing more and more about the dim future that awaits our country's libraries, and I worry about it. With the advent of e-books and advances in technology and communication, we should be seeing the face of the library as we know it, expanding to accommodate these new means of information access. Instead, I fear, we are witnessing the demise of one of the greatest public institutions of all time. This article, though brief, shares a quick snapshot of some of these concerns, which include publishers that refuse to sell e-books to libraries and major booksellers whose interests are not aligned with the preservation of libraries. Author Harry McCracken cites Carson Block of Carson Block Consulting as follows:

"Libraries, Block argued, aren't just book-loaning facilities. They're also about equal opportunity and community, and perhaps they should rebrand themselves as being about access, not books."

Citing apathy as a major threat to libraries, he goes on to argue that "we've always needed libraries; now more than ever, libraries need us". I couldn't agree with this statement more.

Looking back upon my childhood, I can attest to the profound effect that my local library had on me. I grew up in Springdale, OH., a Cincinnati suburb. The nearest library was in the adjacent city of Forest Park. I remember when I was old enough to sign my name and how thrilled I was, when I discovered that mastery of one's signature was all that was required to be awarded a library card! I still remember that first library card - it was manila yellow in color, and the librarian typed my name and address on the card, then had me sign at the bottom. I treasured that card and revered it, proudly extending it as if it was my personal calling card every time I checked out a book.

I remember that library as though I had set foot in it yesterday. A long, unlit tiled hallway opened into a glorious, well lighted carpeted space, filled throughout with books. Children's books were up three steps, then down another three to the right, in a space filled with beanbag chairs and low shelves for little hands to reach picture books. Walls were decorated with posters of illustrations from children's books, and if we were lucky, we could catch a librarian reading a story out loud to a captive group of wide-eyed children. I spent many happy hours there, and recall repeatedly checking out a book called "The Twelve Dancing Princesses", based on a fairy tale. The story itself was draw enough, but the real attraction was the incredible artwork that filled every page and brought the words and my imagination to life.Recently I found a more recent version of that book at my library, filled with equally lovely illustrations, and read it to Alekha at bedtime a few nights ago - she was enthralled with the story and begged me to read it again, and could I please renew it so she could keep it a little longer?

Fiction for older children was adjacent to this space, and just behind those were non-fiction books, where many a weekend was spent riffling through books on topics from outer space to submarines, farming to foreign countries and occupations to autobiographies, volumes of knowledge to assist me in producing the endless book reports that were assigned by teachers.

Adult books, reference books and periodicals were located on the opposite side of the library. The entire space was humming with activity: small children were read to by young mothers, older children seated at tables worked diligently on book reports or homework, or in many cases socialized a little too loudly, until they were inevitably shushed by the librarian. Grown ups wandered about the adult sections, little old ladies with bags of knitting perused periodicals, elderly gentlemen spread open newspapers or played at chess. From time to time, there was an installation of modern artwork or perhaps children's art to grace the walls, and the occasional ice cream social or book sale drew the masses. The library offered cool comfort and a respite from the heat of the day in summer, and warmth and welcome to those suffering cabin fever in the winter. All felt a sense of belonging here. The door was not barred regardless of age, race, ethnicity, religion, or socioeconomic standing. Here, the haves and the have-nots converged, brought together by a common interest: the love of reading and community.

In the middle of this hive of activity, the librarians presided over the circular information desk, always kindly, peering at me over spectacles, ready to assist me with the many questions I had. Requests for a book were met with a lesson in how to utilize the card catalog. I was taken to the humble card catalog, predecessor of the modern search engine, where I was taught the Dewey Decimal system for the cataloging of books. I loved pulling open the sturdy oak drawers and riffling through the typed index cards to locate a needed book. Tiny pencil in hand, I'd jot the call number down before heading off in pursuit of the elusive book.

On weekends, we begged for a trip to the library. My mother always happily obliged, turning three little girls loose in the library while she went to seek out books of her own in the adult section. These little trips were much needed, anticipated and enjoyed in the most soul-satisfying way.

Summer was eagerly anticipated each year for the library's summer reading program for children, which the library called Remmus Gnidaer Margorp. Our childish belief that Mr. Remmus Gnidaer Margorp was a generous benefactor and patron of the library subsided when one of us figured out that "Remmus Gnidaer Margorp" was "Summer Reading Program" spelled backwards!) With eager anticipation, we filled up our reading sheets with each book we read, and jubilantly presented it to the librarian at the end of summer to collect our prizes for reading, usually a book bag filled with small assorted goodies, including a bookmark, a certificate of completion, a few stickers and an eraser or pencil, objects of insignificant value but proudly won in the eyes of a child.

I regard these experiences with a mix of nostalgia and fond affection, and attempt to recreate these experiences for my own child. While the library has changed considerably since I was a child, the ideals upon which libraries were founded have not. It is still one place where everyone, regardless of background, can access learning and books. I still feel the anticipation of finding a book I want to read, and am delighted to see the same excitement in my daughter's eyes as we set foot in the library and she runs off to the children's section on her quest for a book (or ten).

Our library boasts a wealth of programming: tea and holiday parties for children, toddler and family story times, musical groups, poetry shares, book clubs, book and bake sales, films, instuction for homework help, annual summer reading programs, the list goes on. Last year our library ended up on the ballot at voting time due to a cut in funding. We saw reductions in programming and in staffing. Through a visible and vocal campaign, our city passed the levy for increased funding to the library, much to my relief and the relief of others who have come to love and support our libraries.

And this is happening not just in our country, but globally as well. Nicky Wire of the Welsh Alternative Rock band Manic Street Preachers stated in an article for the Guardian:

It's hard not to feel utterly despondent at the current plight of public libraries. Along with the NHS and the BBC, our libraries are some of the few truly remarkable British institutions left. So often absolutely ordinary in appearance, a good library should offer escape routes down the most extraordinary avenues, pathways into different worlds from the one you've left outside. Ridding our villages, towns and cities of libraries, which are essential in shaping a nation's consciousness, seems like a direct attack on the soul of the country.

I shudder to think of the day when libraries may close their doors to the public forever and become an antiquated institution of the past. May we never lose these beacons of light and learning. For all who share in "the love of learning, the sequestered nooks, and all the sweet serenity of books", I echo Harry McCracken's statement that now, more than ever, libraries need us. It's time for us to give back to these noble institutions, through recognition that by preserving the past, we preserve the future for our children and generations to come.

November 25, 2012

We had our first flurries of snow and an arctic-like blast the day after Thanksgiving. It brought to mind one of my favorite holiday songs, Baby It's Cold Outside, from the 1948 film Neptune's Daughter, with a young and gorgeous Ricardo Montalban and glamorous Esther Williams. So many artists have recorded this song, but my favorite versions are the ones by Margaret Whiting and Johnny Mercer (1949), and then the more contemporary version from Elf with Zooey Deschanel's rich alto voice in the humorous shower scene with Will Ferrell. The one below is the original with Ricardo Montalban and Esther Williams, followed immediately by the version with Red Skelton and Betty Garrett from the same film, which is quite humorous, with the female and male roles being reversed. Enjoy!

November 22, 2012

So many reasons to be thankful... a dear friend's post on Facebook today reminded me that there is ALWAYS something to be thankful for. And though I am alone this Thanksgiving (Alekha is with her grandparents and her dad in Nashville), I am filled with peace, serenity and gratitude for this life. And I am happy even for this solitude, for in it, I draw closer to God.

So this life hasn't turned out the way I expected or envisioned, but still, it is a life that has not been without blessings. It is a life of my choosing, full of mistakes patched over with regret at times, but I would choose no other life. For every moment has been meaningful, every mistake has been an opportunity to learn, and every decision has brought me to a higher level of understanding and acceptance.

I am grateful for a sound mind, a healthy body, a beautiful child, the love of friends and family, a house to keep me warm, bookshelves overflowing with books I love, food and drink on the table, a fireplace to warm me on chilly nights, a small space of my own to create art, eyes to behold all that is beautiful, and a camera to capture it all. How very grateful I am, when I count my blessings. Happy Thanksgiving to you, dear friends.

Thanksgiving
Prayer

We return thanks
to our mother, the earth, which sustains us.

We return thanks
to the rivers and streams, which supply us with
water.

We return thanks
to all herbs, which furnish medicines for the cure of our
diseases.

We return thanks
to the moon and stars, which have given to us their light
when the sun was gone.

We return thanks
to the sun, that has looked upon the earth with a beneficent
eye.

Lastly, we
return thanks to the Great Spirit, in Whom is embodied all
goodness, and Who directs all things for the good of Her
children.

November 20, 2012

Six months ago, I hauled a bag of size 6 and 8 clothing that I had held onto for years, to my Goodwill store, convinced I would never fit into those clothes again.

Fast forward to November 2012. I am 45 pounds lighter and as a result, in possession of a new wardrobe, including jeans in a size 8. I am stronger physically, mentally and emotionally. I am in better health, and my body is in better shape than it was in my twenties. Friends and family have asked how I did it. I eliminated the word "can't" from my vocabulary and decided to RUN, that's all. I made a conscious decision that no matter how slow I went, how awkward I looked, how tough it was, I was going to hang in there. At first I ran barely a minute, and then had to revert to walking for 10 or 15. Today, I am running at a speed of 4.5 to 5 with a 1.0 incline on the treadmill. I run for 45-55 minutes straight, usually ending up a little over four miles in an hour, with 15 minutes of walking included in that hour, followed by another half to one hour of resistance training and a commitment to eating healthy and clean. Mondays are an exception - I go in for a 55 minute spinning class instead. But five out of the six other days of the week I am running, without fail.

Others have presumed I lost the weight "for" someone. It wouldn't have happened until and unless I was ready to lose the weight for myself. The most amazing thing that happened in the process was the realization that I am a runner. Running saved me. Running made me realize that I AM the athlete I always wanted to be. Running forces me to let go of things over which I have no control, and to seize the reins of that which I do. Running inspires me to work for the best body I could possibly ever have. Running gives me an uninterrupted hour every day to focus on God, and to work on developing my inner faith. Running challenges me to push myself to achieve what I previously thought impossible. Running is the voice of the coach screaming at me to keep going when my heart threatens to leap out of my chest, sweat dripping from every pore, and every limb and muscle wants to collapse and give up. Running courses through my veins and calls to me every single day with a voice that will not be silenced or ignored until its demands are met. Running silences all of the doubts and fears and negative thoughts that held me hostage for years. Running leaves me feeling exhausted, grateful, happy, whole and strong. I don't run for anyone else. I run for me. I run because I can.

November 19, 2012

So we stopped by the "woods" (well, the park, actually); and it wasn't evening, and it wasn't snowing... but it had been awhile since I had done a photoshoot of Alekha, and I had to dust off the old camera so I could get some holiday-card-worthy pics! At times, I think I should dress her in bright colors for these shoots, but somehow, I am drawn to a more subdued color palette - I think the softer colors lend themselves to more beautiful photos with a dream-like quality that I haven't been able to duplicate with bright colors. The light blue cotton gingham check blouse is a favorite of mine - it's from the Danish design label Mini A Ture and though it was a summer top, she hadn't had a chance to wear it all summer. I thought the colors would be perfect against the backdrop of the blue-green fir trees in the woods. I also realized that next time, I need to do her nails (chipped polish
visible on one of the photos) plus I need to make sure she is wearing
coordinating hair bands - she picked one green and one pink, and I had
to change the band colors on a few of the pics manually. She is always happy to oblige, knowing that she is getting paid by Mama for her modelling sessions, and enjoys the pocket money which she inevitably spends on books or art supplies (the apple doesn't fall far from the tree!) Looking at these photos, it's hard to believe she is only nine. She is growing up so fast. Sigh.

November 14, 2012

All mothers are excited about the birth of a baby, but I want you to know that I waited for you for what seemed like an eternity. There were long childless years without you, years when I gazed with a heart full of longing at the chubby, rosy cheeked babies that I encountered everywhere. When you arrived, my heart was filled to bursting. I had always read about the love that happens to a woman after the birth of a child, and had often imagined what it would be like. I was ill-prepared for the onslaught of maternal love and the fierce protectiveness that you brought on. I was prepared to slay dragons for you, and felt that I could singlehandedly decimate anyone who tried to harm you.

Nine years have passed since that blissful first year of your birth, and the feelings have not disappeared, but only gotten stronger. You make me laugh at the things you say, you amaze me with your creativity and intelligence, you humble me with your kind, selfless nature, you overwhelm me with your love, and you make me realize that if I accomplish nothing else in life, it matters little, because you are my greatest work of art.

You used to worry that a younger brother or sister would diminish the love I have for you, and I always assured you that could never happen. I always told you that the miraculous thing about love is this: the more you give away, the more you create. You must have finally learned that lesson, for lately, you've been asking for a little sister and don't understand when I tell you it's unlikely that would happen at this point. You asked me today if I was happy that I only had one child. I hugged you in response and told you that I couldn't be happier with the gifts God has given me. Yes, I am happy to have this one child, and I am happy that child is you.

November 11, 2012

Thank you all for the very sweet words on the last two posts about grace and the weight loss. I read all your comments and wish we could connect personally so I could thank you for them, they mean a lot to me. I've been busy traveling - took a much needed trip to Washington, DC and spent six glorious days (three extra ones as I was stuck there due to Hurricane Sandy). I was visiting a dear friend who lives in a charming house on Capitol Hill. We spent multiple days at the National Gallery of Art - just drinking in all the art --- I was in heaven. I'll have to dedicate a whole separate post to that trip!

This will be quick - just had to pop in, to share the beautiful watercolor renderings of British fashion illustrator Cate Parr. Her gorgeous work leaves me speechless. I especially loved the Indian inspired paintings below. The poem that accompanies them is by Rabindranath Tagore, a Bengali poet, painter and writer who was the first non-European to win the Nobel Prize for literature, in 1913. It's one of my favorites, and hope you'll enjoy it too.

O Woman!

O woman, you are not merely the handiwork of God, but also of men; these are ever endowing you with beauty from their hearts. Poets are weaving for you a web

with threads of golden imagery; painters are giving your form ever new immortality. The sea gives its pearls, the mines their gold, the summer gardens their flowers to deck you, to cover you, to make you more precious. The desire of men's hearts has shed its glory over your youth. You are one half woman and one half dream. -Rabindranath Tagore